


I'm Selfish, I'm Obscene

by aerialtreasury



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Coming In Pants, M/M, Orgasm Delay, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Overstimulation, Praise Kink, Vaginal Fingering, android sex am i right, hank pay attention to your man challenge
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-25
Updated: 2018-07-25
Packaged: 2019-06-16 06:00:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,473
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15430530
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aerialtreasury/pseuds/aerialtreasury
Summary: Connor is, as usual, needy. Hank has grown to be pretty blasé about it.Connor is, also as usual, determined to get an audience.





	I'm Selfish, I'm Obscene

Lazy Sunday’s have almost become a ritual at this point, a sticky-note labelled “call in late” stuck to the corkboard in the back of Hank’s mind. Eventually, the DPD seemed to collectively decide that yes, Hank is not nor is he ever planning to willingly come into work on a Sunday anytime past 1 PM; so they give him Sunday’s off.

 

The downright murderous glare that Gavin shoots his way when he comes in on Monday does not go unnoticed. Not that Hank has ever given a goddamn what Gavin thinks of his work schedule, of all things. 

 

No, he very happily comes into work on time every Monday now, usually about 20 minutes late between his husband and Sumo doing everything in their power to keep him home.

 

Connor, aforementioned husband, who has decided to effectively use Hank as a human body pillow for the day.

 

Daytime television is garbage, but Connor insisted they watch for an upcoming episode of Dogs 101 featuring Saint Bernards. Also, Connor may have the sweetest puppy dog eyes Hank’s ever seen, so he agrees. Not only to the brain-rotting fifth episode of Cat Whisperer, but also to letting the android all but encase him like the duvet of their bed.

 

An hour to go and Hank starts to notice it. The fidgeting, the constant huffing and setting his phone down, squirming in his lap like he can’t get comfortable. He certainly  _ looks  _ comfortable in Hank’s old hoodie, on the smaller framed android it's horribly oversized. It's this frankly awful mustard yellow excuse for a hoodie that Connor will likely never give back. It was an old Hanukkah present anyway, sat in the back of Hank’s closet for years collecting dust. At least it’s getting some use, even if that means enduring countless holes and fraying ends by virtue of Connors fidgeting.

 

Hank shrugs off the behavior, because it’s Connor and he knows him well enough. His mind rebels at stagnation. It doesn't just crave but  _ requires  _ work, stimuli, problems to solve, tactile gadgets and gizmos to fidget with. So it hardly surprises him that the android may be getting a  _ tad  _ bored himself.

 

Because really, how many damn cats can he watch hiss and growl and tear up furniture before it becomes more of a situational comedy than a life altering ‘reality’ show.

 

With a book in one hand and Connor held snug against his frame in the other, he lets his grasp losen. He doesn’t even realize he’s been tracing Connor’s exposed thighs until he hears the soft sigh ghost over his lips. 

 

“Enjoyin’ the program?” Hank asks, hand drifting to the inner thigh.

Connor, defeated, sinks into Hank, practically deflates. “Hank, can you promise me something?”

 

Hank traces the letters Y-E-S against Connor’s thigh.

“Please never buy a cat.”

“Didn’t plan on it.”

“Maybe a bird. Do you think we could have a bird?”

“What in the hell would you do with a bird, Con.”

“Love and care for it, of course.”

“Christ.” 

 

Connor whines, leaning his weight back into Hank until he’s pushing hard against the soft curve of his stomach.

Then he spreads his thighs out, and Hank gets the hint, of course.

 

Eyes still glued to his book, he glides a finger down the front of Connor’s front, stripped down to his boxers. The repetitive motion always does wonders, something about the barrier of clothing between Hank’s finger and Connor’s clit gets him riled up instantly. Not that he near  _ constantly  _ ‘riled up’. 

 

His fingers are wet by the next commercial break, along with a considerable patch of Connor’s boxers. 

 

“Hank.” Connor says the name like a command. A command Hank promptly ignores. “ _ Hank _ .”

 

“Mhm?” Hank switches his index finger out, favoring his thumb instead. Slow, small circles over the hood, rolling it up and down. 

 

Connor growls a frustrated noise when Hank retracts his touch, only to have his hoodie slipped up just enough for Hank to give one of his nipples attention instead. Which would be well and fine, if he would just stop reading and fuck him already.

 

He’s rolling the nipples between two fingers, squeezing, groping, brushing and it’s not fucking fair.

 

Because here’s Connor, cooling systems starting to power on harder to compensate for the overheating, while Hank is still just  _ reading _ .

 

“Hank,  _ please _ .” Connor whines, practically throwing a tantrum in Hank’s lap. 

 

“Please what, Con?”

 

“I want you to touch me.”

 

“I am touching you.” The corners of Hank's mouth twitch into a little grin at the frustrated noise this pulls from him.

 

Connor bites his lip. “Hank. I  _ need  _ you to touch me.”

 

“Oh,  _ need _ , huh?” Hank flips the page of his book and Connor’s backup cooling system clicks onto the second level. 

 

With a very displeased look directed at the older man, Connor sits up just enough to shimmy out of his boxers. Hank drifts his hand back down to slip two fingers into Connor’s folds, causing the android to groan because  _ finally _ . For a bit of encouragement he bucks his hips up into the touch, but Hank doesn’t take the bait.

 

No, he’d much rather lazily drag the slicked fingers to tug along the hood of Connor’s clit. He teases a third finger barely inside and Connor moans, throwing his head back as he finally slips it in and begins to pump in and out. Not nearly enough, not fast enough not full enough—

 

“ _ Please _ .” 

 

The finger inside him picks up speed, while the thumb against his clit remains agonizingly slow. Connor could cry. “Yes, yes yes yes  _ fuck,  _ Hank.” 

 

It’s the sound of a fan whirring on full speed that finally gets Hank’s full attention. 

 

Connor, spread open wide, flushed deep blue. Connor, with his head thrown back revealing the sensitive skin of his neck, eyes squeezed tight and expression contorting between pure frustration and pleasure. Connor, revelling in every little movement of Hank’s fingers, grinding himself down and practically fucking himself into his hand. 

 

His ears beg to be bitten, and Hank does not refuse, taking the top of one of his ears and lapping his tongue against the skin there. Connor gasps, hands shooting out to grip at the sheets. 

 

“ _ Hah— _ harder, please. Oh God—” Connor whimpers, an explosion of heat coiling in his stomach knowing he finally has an audience. 

 

Fuck the book. It’s thrown across the room with little regard for where it lands. This man is way more interesting than whatever sentence he was just reading over again for the twentieth time.

 

“Is this what you wanted? Hm?” Hank grinds his hips up, cock twitching with interest at the pretty, confirmative moan that Connor responds with. “That’s it, there’s a good boy.”

 

Connor bites his lip hard enough to draw blood, entire body shivering, internal cooling fans audibly blasting on full power. His now free hand goes to slide up Connor’s chest, seizing one of his nipples and brushing circles over the painfully hard nub. 

 

“I’m— H-Hank I’m gonna, I’m gonna come I’m so close I’msoclosepleaseplease—” There are actual tears pricking at his eyes when he opens them to meet Hank’s own, along with the disheveled hair, blown wide pupils, flushed cheeks— it’s all almost enough to push him over the edge alone. 

 

Hank curls one finger upwards causing Connor to arch his back and release a borderline feral groan. “You can come, go on. I’ll count to 3 and you’re gonna come for me, alright?”

 

Beyond words, Connor nods feverishly, drinking in the feeling of Hank’s fingers stretching him out and leaving not a single inch untouched. 

 

“Good boy.” Hank hums into his cheek, gives it a quick kiss while he’s there. “One.”

 

Connor’s fan buzzing and stuttering gasps are the only noise in the room.

 

“Two.”

 

He feels Connor tighten around his fingers, a sob choking in his throat. Nonsense, babbling half-sentences explode into a string of obscenities that tumble off his lips like he's running out of time to speak. Which, frankly, it certainly sounds like it, the way his voice cracks and stutters, trying to cling on through the wave. Hank comes into his boxers with a muffled cry, biting hard into the fabric of Connor’s shoulder. He let’s Connor ride out his orgasm against his stilled fingers until it becomes too much, too sensitive. Hank slips his fingers out, lets Connor collapse into his chest.

 

“Look at me.” Hank commands, and Connor can barely lift his hazy head in time to see Hank lick his fingers clean. “You were doin’ so good, Con. You didn’t make it to 3.” 

 

Connor breathes a laugh through a lopsided smile, the buzz of his internal fan slowing as signs of overheating leave his vision field. His eyelids drift closed without his permission, still feeling the warm glow encasing his entire body. 

 

“Maybe next time.” 

 

**Author's Note:**

> shout out to my friend for giving me permission to write this!! <3  
> hope u enjoyed! im writing all this gay shit out of pure spite tbh (You Know Why) so i mean u know im having fun at least


End file.
